Lifeline February * March * April 2004 Good Bye Sascha It is with sad hearts that we say our good byes to Sascha Wagner, bereaved parent, poet, inspiration, comfort, and Compassionate Friend to all those who have come to know her through her words of love, grief, and understanding.  Sascha died on Tuesday, December 9th, 2003.  Some of our members were privileged to meet Sascha when she came to Brandon for a past conference, and rejoiced with you at the “unveiling” of the monument that bears her words at the Children’s Memorial Garden. In their name Who are gone                         These young hearts                           These flawless souls                         In their name         Let our lives grow                           Sascha  From a communication from our TCF Canada National Board: I have also just received communication from Alice Wisler, a friend of Sascha's. In 2001, Sascha gave Alice the editorship of the newsletter entitled LARGO. Alice says, " She trusted me with her more-than two-decades-old-newsletter she'd created for multiple-bereaved parents, parents like herself. I was honored, but even more honored to meet her for the first time at the regional Compassionate Friends Conference in Denver, Colorado, that same year." Alice also said that she is, " in the process of creating a web site in Sascha's memory and you can access "Sascha's Place" by going to http://www.geocities.com/griefhope/index.html and clicking on the link there. The site is clearly under construction, but I want you all to feel free to sign the guest book and send me your memories and thoughts to add to the pages. Does anyone have a photo of Sascha? If so, please email it to me as a jpg attachment. I feel an era has ended with the death of our friend, mentor, and poet. Sascha's verses comforted us and we knew that we would survive with the help of her gentle and ageless words. Please feel free to forward this to those who would want to write something for the web site. Thank you. Alice wisler@mindspring.com " As you read this, TCF of Canada - is working on a TRIBUTE TO SASCHA on the national web site. You may wish to check there from time to time in the next few days at: http://www.TCFCanada.net If any of you also have pictures of Sascha please forward them to me by e-mail at: Secretary@TCFCanada.net Thank you. Sascha's words of caring and love will be with us always. Adaline Leir - National Secretary So often words are not enough To tell just what we feel. Please read between the lines, dear friends, And hear the thought this greeting sends: Love to your house Love to your heart Love to your life   And thank you for this eventide Of warmth and tears and talk and cheers. Remembrance  for a thousand years.   Sascha Spring is not far away - there is a smell of growing things about. The snow looks somehow even more perishable now. Spring is not far away - And memories move to another place, Remembering: a squeaky swing in the garden, going back and forth, back and forth… Remembering a bicycle taken out for its first ride…   Remembering: incredibly wet boots, cold hands, kissing-fresh face… So many things remembered, How many lost? Not one, not one. The heart remembers always.   Spring is not far away.   Sascha       Friends are lights in the winter; the older the friend, the brighter the light. Roger Rosenblatt, in Time Magazine  Prayer for Spring  Like Springtime, let me unfold And grow fresh and new From this cocoon of grief That has been spun around me.  Help me face the harsh reality of Sunshine and renewed life As my bones still creak from the winter of my grief.   Life has dared to go on around me. As I recover from the insult Of Life’s continuance, I readjust my focus to Include recovery and growth As a possibility in my future.   Give me strength to break out of The cocoon of my grief. But may I never forget it as The place where I grew my wings, Becoming a new person Because of my loss.  Janice Heil TCF/Vancouver  Printed in the TCF/Winnipeg Newsletter May 92   Taking Care of Yourself… The loss of a loved one is a life shattering experience.  The stress that results from the deeply felt emotions of grief can cause chemical changes in the body that make grieving people more susceptible to diseases such as the common cold and other infections.    The connection between mind and body is becoming more widely recognized, scientific research shows that what we feel and think has a direct effect on our biological system.   You cann’t stop grief, but you can lessen the consequence of its continued stress by releasing the tension in creates.   A way to help reduce stress is by relaxing through stretching and light exercise… what works for you?  Some have found a soak in a tub or to go for a massage enables them to relax, others prefer to walk.  Drop us a note and let us know what you do to reduce stress or find relaxation.  We would love to share your ideas with others.  Go For a Massage!!!! In the Brandon Yellow pages, there are numerous listings for massage therapy.  Try one!  They are a wonderful gift to yourself that you deserve.  A half hour massage will cost you aprox. $30-$40.   There is listings for Minnedosa and Souris as well.   The Hardest Part of Life             Is Living By What You Believe In If there’s ever a time in your life When you feel like you’ve been boxed in There’s a burning inside of your heart The light in your soul’s grown dim.   If there’s ever a time in your life When you feel that you cann’t go on There’s a sickness inside of your mind And the road downhill is long.  Hang on to the things that you cherish Take time to let yourself breathe Just remember to keep on fighting. Dear Lord, Please help me believe.   Sandra Cochran Daughter of Mary and Bruce, TCF SWMB    There is no answer To the questions—Why? Did our precious children Have to die? .. So .. Let the joyful memories Of your girl or boy Permeate your aching heart With joy .. And .. If these memories make you cry Remember—with love Our butterfly  Ruth George TCF/Kingston Ontario     My Grief Rights 1995 Alan D. Wolfelt 1.      I HAVE THE RIGHT TO HAVE MY OWN UNIQUE FEELINGS ABOUT THE DEATH.  -  I may feel mad, sad, lonely, scared or relieved.  I may be numb or sometimes nothing at all. 2.      I HAVE THE RIGHT TO TALK ABOUT MY GRIEF WHENEVER I FEEL LIKE TALKING.  I will find someone who will care and listen.  If I don’t want to talk, that’s ok too. 3.      I HAVE THE RIGHT TO SHOW MY FEELINGS OF GRIEF IN MY OWN WAY.  I may get mad and scream, or I might cry.  I might want time alone. 4.      I HAVE THE RIGHT TO NEED OTHER PEOPLE TO HELP ME WITH MY GRIEF, ESPECIALLY THOSE WHO CARE ABOUT ME.  Please pay attention to me, to what I am saying and feeling.  Love me no matter what. 5.      I HAVE THE RIGHT TO GET UPSET ABOUT NORMAL, EVERYDAY PROBLEMS.  I might feel grumpy and have trouble getting along with others. 6.      I HAVE THE RIGHT TO HAVE “GRIEFBURSTS”.  These are sudden, unexpected feelings of sadness that just hit me even long after the death; these feelings can be very strong. 7.      I HAVE THE RIGHT TO USE MY BELIEFS ABOUT MY GOD TO HELP ME DEAL WITH MY FEELINGS OF GRIEF.  Praying might make me feel better, closer to the person who died. 8.      I HAVE THE RIGHT TO TRY TO FIGURE OUT WHY THE PERSON I LOVE DIED.  It’s okay if I don’t find the answer. 9.      I HAVE THE RIGHT TO THINK AND TALK ABOUT MY MEMORIES OF THE PERSON WHO DIED.  Memories might be happy or they might be sad.  Either way, these will keep alive my love for the person who died. 10.  I HAVE THE RIGHT TO MOVE TOWARD AND FEEL MY GRIEF AND, OVER TIME TO HEAL.  I’ll go on to live  a happy life, but the life and breath of the person who died will always be a part of me. Printed in the Coquitlam Chapter newsletter July/August 1996.    Today … I need to weep.           Don’t feel concern And try to talk away my woes. Though kindly meant …           these platitudes can do no good For today … I need to weep.   Today … my tears must flow.           I seek relief! This tightness in my breast must ease. To smile again …           I know no other remedy So today … my tears must flow.   Today … I must retreat.           Don’t come too near. This sadness in my heart is mine alone. I cannot share …           the burden that is grieving me So today … I must retreat.   Today … I’ll heal myself           the injured doe Seeks solitude to lick her wounds, A message clear …           that nature in her wisdom shows The way … to heal myself.   Jan Meadows Head Nurse Labor & Delivery Brandon General Hospital (Editor’s Note: at the time of the authoring of this poem this was the position  Jan occupied at the hospital.  June 1990) Let everything be allowed to do what it naturally does,  so its nature will be satisfied. ~Chuang Tzu   Carry Your Own Sign Post Carry your own signpost.  Really I am serious.  Think about it.  They liken the grief process to a journey, and I agree with that symbolism.  But who makes the road signs on the way?  It feels like everywhere and everyone has an idea, a “method”, or opinion of where we should be in our grief.  They stick those sign posts everywhere… in the well meant phrases (“It’s time to move on”); in the avoidance of talking about the one who died; in their speech to others around us; in the barrage of Techniques, Methods, and Guidelines people are willing to sell us to help us cope.   But what if we carry our own signpost?  We would always be in the right place—after all you put what you want on the sign.  We would always be going in the right direction—doesn’t matter if it’s backwards, forwards, sideways… the point at this pain filled stage in our life is we are moving—period.  We are going to go every which way when grieving.  There is no straight line, no technique to learn, just a gradual moving through.   That is the next thing to put on your sign… you post the speed.  You set the timeline.   Now be honest… don’t you feel like there should be a sign above your head anyway?  Ever changing, and of course with the standard toilet paper roll affixed to it… those of you who are going “huh?” need to stop in your tour at Grief Inc. and visit Darcie.  By the way did I mention you can change your sign minute to minute?  Use a white board and marker… much easier.  We can turn it into a warning sign—”WARNING BEREAVED PEOPLE TEND TO TAKE UNEXPECTED TURNS” - then no one trying to walk with us will be surprised when we suddenly veer over to Weepy City for coffee, or to brake hard for Memory Crossings.   One place I end up at a lot is Tear Drop Falls.  I tend to look like hell when I leave, but I always feel better later.  We all have standing reservations at Heartbreak Hotel, and the “tourists” just don’t understand the immense meaning of the landmarks in our land—Guilt Mountain, the Bitter Cliffs, and of course we all troop through the Angry Desert once in a while.  Some people spend a lot of time there… but of course they are carrying their own sign, so that is ok… they will come and meet us at the one sane place we all gravitate to… the Compassionate Friends Sharing Meeting.  These landmarks are important to those of us who have already toured them, they serve as reminders of how far they have come in their journey—thank goodness some of them stick around so we can read their signs… and find the gem of our journey… the Hope Diamond!    Carry your own sign, set your own pace, be where you feel you need to be.   It is your heart that is broken, it is the love that you have for your child that will guide you—if you let it help you carry your sign. Cindy Vogt TCF/SWMB The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and, if they can't find them, make them. ~ George Bernard Shaw   I feel as If I am Alive Alone The Grief of a Single Parent If you were to ask me what it’s like being a single parent, by reason of the death of my husband at a very young age, and the mother of an only child, who was instantly killed, I’ll take a deep breath and try to hold back the tears and not reveal the heartache that is constantly a part of me.  I am so thankful, for friends and their caring, but often I feel as though I’m alive alone. My son Doug was 39 years old, but still my child.  We had a great mother-son relationship, but it ended so abruptly.  My memories of him will never fade.  I cherish them in my heart.  Time will heal the deep wound, but when a loved one dies, we lose part of our very selves.  When I realize I have no descendants, no grandchildren to cuddle and sing lullabies to, and be able to watch run and play, to take pride in their accomplishments, it tears at my heart.  However, I realize also, that I was blessed beyond measure when God loaned us our son, and even in spite of the grief I am going through because of his death, I am so glad he lived, and I had the privilege of being his mother.  The joys he brought into my life can never be taken away.  You see, he was my most treasured possession on this earth.  His hugs aren’t mine anymore and I cann’t cook his favorite meal or look into his smiling face.  The tools that he used over many years in his hobby of restoring old cars hang idle.  He loved music, and this guitar is a special keepsake.  My daily need as I awaken is to ask the Lord for strength and courage for the day, and to help me to be a source of comfort for someone else.  I don’t ever want to be a victim of self-pity, and I desire to be able to reach out to others and offer compassion.  I feel I have begun to learn the true meaning of compassion—Your pain, in my heart.  A task remains for me—to reflect on those qualities in Doug’s life that I want to emulate.  He had a gentle spirit, a caring attitude, a great love for people, a zest for life, and most of all, he gave of himself.  It may take time, but God will mend my broken heart, but He must first have ALL of the pieces.  He knows me better than I know myself. Hopefully I’ll be a better person as I journey through life, knowing that He is in control, and I can look to Him for guidance any time.  My prayer is that I can be used by Him to comfort others.   We all need each other, and if my smile brightens someone else’s day, perhaps I can help by sharing their burden, and then my life will continue to have greater meaning.  We need to look for life’s little sparkles even in the midst of life’s most crippling sorrows.  Pain is inevitable, but joy is optional.  I want to choose to be joyful.  “A merry heart doeth good, like a medicine.” Ruth Ann Amick, TCF Ottawa, OH   Memories Are All We Have  Four long years ago We said our “Goodbyes”         Now,         Our tears still flow         Our hearts still ache         Not a day goes by that we         Don’t’ think of you. Memories are all we have Memories of six short years         But,         Remembering keeps you         Near us,         Our dear         Sweet child We love and miss you always, Kim Adaline Leir TCF Regina; TCF Canada  "Getting On With Life" -What Does It Mean?   Of all the statements and spiritual platitudes quoted at me since my son, Daniel's death, the phrase that I hear most frequently makes me squirm the most. "You have to get on with your life." Recently, I quit squirming long enough to ponder the meaning behind this phrase that is usually said to the bereaved in the form of a command. Exactly what does this phrase mean? What are people implying when they say it?  I was pregnant when Daniel died and three months later, I gave birth to a baby girl. Wasn't that getting on with life? I nurtured my three children, took them to school, the park and birthday parties. Now wasn't that going on with life? I even cooked dinner at least four times a week! At first after Daniel's death, I would have liked to have had my life literally stopped and been buried next to my son, but I kept existing. Like the plastic bag tossed about by the wind, I was fluttering, being carried by the events of life. Seasons came and went. In the spring, I planted marigolds and tomato vines. In the autumn I jumped in fallen leaves with my children. I continued; I still am continuing to live.  Now, I may be bereaved but I am by no means a fool. As I ponder the meaning behind "getting on with life, " I am capable of knowing exactly what those who say this have in mind. "Forget your dead child. Quit grieving. You make me uncomfortable!" Getting on with life means don't acknowledge August 25th, Daniel's birthday, anymore. Forget how he slid down the snowy bank in the recycle bin, sang in the van and ate Gummy Bears. Forget he had cancer, suffered and died at only age four. Don't see the empty chair at the dinner table, don't cry, just live!   Some who are more "religious" would like to believe that a bereaved parent can claim, "My child is safe and happy in Heaven. Therefore, why should I yearn for him?" Perhaps, I pose a threat to certain types because I have let it be known I question God. I weep. I have been angry. I miss my Daniel. Maybe old friends feel if they hang around me too long I might convince them that a few of their illusions about life are just that, only illusions. As my cries of anguish are heard, there are those who can only think how to make me be quiet. To stop my heartfelt yearnings they say quite sternly, "You must get on with your life."  I am living. I do move on with life with Daniel in my mind and in my heart. Although he is not physically here, as I continue to live, I continue to love. To sever his memory totally from my life would be creating destruction and damage that would ruin me. To push Daniel out of my life and not be able to freely mention his name or write and speak about who he was on earth would bring only more pain to my life. I'd shrivel up. Comfort for me comes in remembering with smiles how he drew with a blue marker on his sister's wall, ran outside naked and picked green tomatoes. For the reality is, getting on with life means continuing to cherish Daniel. ~ by Alice J. Wisler   Bereavement Magazine September/October 2000  Precious Valentine Memories  The lace has grown yellow with age. The edges are tattered and the glue that held the pieces together has long dried up, leaving only a slight stain on the faded red paper. It is much smaller than I remembered. Perhaps time has caused it to shrink. It seems so fragile, resting here in my palm. The words have nearly faded and even the heavy crayon marks have lost their luster over the years. There's a smudge of unknown origin on the back, near where the paper was rubbed dangerously thin by the uncounted erasure marks. The name is barely legible; the pencil lines so weak that only the mind can read the letters.  I found it the other day, while doing one of those winter chores: cleaning closets. It's nearly 25 degrees below zero outside and it seemed like a good idea to clear away some of the trappings of a thousand years. February is a middle-of-winter month and most of us have fewer choices in this month than in any other. For those of us here in the Great North, it is either shovel the walk or clean the closets, and it's warmer in the closet (although not by much!) So, armed with a dust rag, trash bag and the radio, I opened the door and slipped in ... not really about what I might find. I thought I was just going to clean the closet. But, that first box sent me spinning. I found things I hadn't even remembered I'd lost! I finally found the holiday gift bought for my sister last year and then so carefully had hid away. I found snow boots and sand pails, a beach towel, three old paperbacks, a pile of magazines (all saved because I wanted to clip something "important"). I found shoelaces for shoes no longer "alive" and several other things that had once been alive. I found a half a chocolate-covered cherry and part of a deck of cards. It was quite a treasure box, filled with junk that once had had some meaning to someone, maybe even me. I sorted though the coats and clothes; painfully aware that "someday" would probably not arrive in my lifetime. The too short hemline and the too-small waist would not be mine again. I packed those things away, mindless of the hours and the drifting snow outside the windows. When I found the box of scrapbooks, I sat down, now that the closet had some actual floor space. I touched the bindings, not quite sure I possessed the courage required to open the pages. The phone rang and forced me away from that decision. I left the closet and did not return until now. That's when I found the old paper Valentine, tucked away between the pages of a life lived long ago. As I held that once sticky, but now only stained, piece of construction paper, I felt a connection with other valentines, in other lifetimes. I heard a whisper of another voice: my own mother’s exclamation over my offered gift. It blended with my voice, speaking across the generations of children bringing home paper messages of love. OH! I had forgotten THAT...it had become lost in the pain of losing you. It was a peaceful hour in that closet, listening to the sounds of my life, lived long ago and now remembered through the pages of the scrapbooks. I found my own laughter and that of my friend, joining the laughter of my own children, seeking the laughter of tomorrow's bearers of paper hearts. Time does pass on. Generations of hearts have been delivered and received. Generations of love have been shared just as generations of hurt have been endured. It felt timeless in the closet...as if when I opened the door, the give of this Valentine would still be waiting! Perhaps that is exactly what is happening, perhaps the engineers of all of our hurts and happiness are still waiting - waiting for us to claim that love and bring their light back into being. There were so many years when I could not bear this exchanging of paper hearts! There were so many years when I counted FIRST what was missing, never realizing that in the measuring of my losses, I was truly losing what I did have. The snow had drifted deep across the yard: only the tips of my flamingos' knit-capped, covered heads are visible in the white. But my vision has been cleared somewhat this afternoon by a visit in the closet where I found a memory that no length of time could fade. The lace is faded, the edges tattered, but the heart always remembers and through the tears, the sounds of love given and received echo back to me. So now, this little paper message from both my past and my future sits on my dresser, reminding me each morning to make room for the happy memories as well as the hard ones. I had "lost" that Valentine form so long ago, but the bearer of that most precious gift of love has NOT been lost to me. Our loved ones die, but the love we share between us can NEVER BE DESTROYED. Love continues past all change and becomes the memory trace that guides the human spirit. Love isn't enough, but without it, the world grows cold and frozen, and the sidewalks never get shoveled and the closets never get cleaned, and the memories get lost in the confusion of pain not healing. Go find a Valentine, clean a closet, rummage through a drawer, search for some tangible evidence that, indeed, your love DID LIVE - and what a sweet treat that will be! by Darcie Sims ~lovingly lifted from Sunflower Chapter, Wichita, KS Feb Newsletter    Doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt. ~ Shakespeare   Feelings  We feel sad, For what we have lost. We feel happy, For what we have had. We feel poor, For the empty spaces.   We feel rich, For we have each other We will cry, For what we cann’t have. We will laugh, For our memories abound. We will hurt, For the love we cann’t give. We will rejoice, For the love we have received. We will be restless, For our lives are not whole.   We will be peaceful, For we know it is not forever.  Annette Hamilton TCF/Prince George, BC   Spring   In January, when daffodils appear in flower shops I buy two One for Andy — One for us!   Andy’s daffodil—lying in the snow - Frozen yellow on frozen white Early Spring! Snowdrops—poking their heads through The last remaining snow Heralding Spring!   Crocus—covering his grave in a carpet of colour Daffodils — bright yellow and orange Nodding their heads in Spring breezes Kissing his stone. Tulips — tall and straight add their colors To Spring’s pageant.   I sigh as the last blooms of Spring fade But I have made Andy’s Spring last Four months this year.   Ruth George, TCF/Kingston ON